


whatever you want.

by sevensevan



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/F, Pre-Relationship, all skimmons all the time, it's just gay and sometimes happy folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-04-04 00:53:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14008593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensevan/pseuds/sevensevan
Summary: Collection of prompts and drabbles/oneshots that are too short to be their own stories. Warnings posted on individual chapters.





	1. laugh again and make me fall in love

**Author's Note:**

> i'm crossposting all my shorter skimmons tumblr prompt fics here, as well as various drabbles and oneshots i've written on my own. my fic requests are always open; you can leave a comment here or send me an ask on tumblr @daisys-quake. enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unprompted; just wrote a lil thing for the fun of it. hope you enjoy.

Daisy looks down for a few seconds. It’s an instinctual reaction to the feeling of her phone buzzing in her pocket. Those few seconds are all it takes.

Daisy collides with someone stepping out of the library and goes flying off of her skateboard. The stranger stumbles sideways and falls as well, her backpack hitting the sidewalk with an impressively loud _thump_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Daisy groans, lifting herself up and rubbing her head, assessing the damage. She has one skinned knee, road rash on both palms, and an assortment of bruises that will undoubtedly make themselves fully known tomorrow. She looks over at the stranger, who— _damn it_ —is a ridiculously pretty girl. Why can’t Daisy meet pretty girls in class or in the dining hall or pretty much _anywhere_ _else_ , under any circumstances that don’t involve accidental assault. “You okay?” she asks. The stranger is sitting up, blinking at Daisy in surprise and confusion. _God_ , what if she hit her head? Daisy can’t pay hospital bills. She can’t even pay her own goddamned tuition.

“I believe so,” the stranger says in an unfairly adorable British accent.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Daisy says, pushing herself to her feet and offering the stranger a hand. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She doesn’t add that she really shouldn’t have to look where she’s going when she’s passing the library at ten-thirty at night on a Friday. What kind of loser is in the library on a perfectly good Friday night?

Then again, Daisy was skating home to watch Netflix when she collided with the stranger while all of her friends were watching the sunset on the beach, so maybe she can’t really judge this girl.

“It’s quite alright,” the girl murmurs, taking Daisy’s hand, and _fuck_ , Daisy forgot about her road rash. She squints at Daisy. “You look familiar. What’s your major?”

“Computer science,” Daisy says, and the girl snaps her fingers, in a gesture that should be dorky but instead just ends up being cute.

“That’s where I know you from,” the girl says. “Daisy, right? I’m Jemma Simmons. My best friend TA’ed your CSS class last year.”

“That’s me,” Daisy says. “Listen, I am so, so sorry for running into you. Can I do something to make it up? Buy you a coffee or—you’re probably a tea person. Buy you a tea or something?”

“It’s ten-thirty,” the girl, Jemma, points out. Daisy shrugs.

“On a Friday,” she replies. “What’s a weekend without bad caffeine-related decisions?” Jemma laughs, which—Daisy doesn’t think it was that funny, but Jemma is pretty and her eyes scrunch up when she laughs, so Daisy doesn’t really care if it’s her joke being laughed at or her. As long as Jemma keeps smiling, she doesn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake. fic reqs are always open. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


	2. let's make this last forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt from thehistorynut19 for skimmons first date.

_I really shouldn’t be nervous_ , Daisy thinks. It’s not as if this a _new_ thing. She’s known Jemma for years; they’ve had dinner together more times than Daisy can count. They’ve been to diners and cafés and five-star restaurants.

Still, there’s something undeniably nerve-wracking about sitting across from Jemma and knowing that this dinner in particular has entirely different connotations, that when Jemma smiles at her over her wine glass and Daisy’s stomach erupts in butterflies it doesn’t have to be some secret thing; Daisy doesn’t have to push the feeling down and smile back with only a hint of the warmth she feels in her chest. There’s something incredible in the knowledge that, when dinner is over, Daisy will walk Jemma home (even if home is just a room three doors down from Daisy’s; it’s the symbolism of the action that counts) and she’ll probably get to kiss Jemma good night, and that’s—Daisy isn’t a big believer in fate or destiny or divine anything, really, but she definitely believes in luck, and this is maybe the luckiest she’s ever been.

Because Jemma is asking about the work she’s been doing on encrypting S.H.I.E.L.D. communications, and she’s laughing at Daisy’s stupid jokes, and they’re sitting in a cheap Italian restaurant on their first date, and Daisy is pretty sure that this is all she wants for the rest of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment and kudos if you liked it.


	3. you came out of nowhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt from ohladybegood for skimmons and accidental pet acquisition. went a little off the rails. c'est la vie.

Really, it isn’t Daisy’s fault.

The cat likes her more than it likes Jemma. And sure, Daisy could probably do something about it, like leave her window closed so the damn thing can’t sneak into her apartment, but that would mean not seeing her neighbor’s flustered look whenever she opens her door to Daisy holding her cat and cooing at it, so instead, Daisy starts leaving her window open on purpose.

Jemma calls her a pet thief after the sixth time Daisy brings the cat back, and she’s joking, clearly she’s joking, but Daisy thinks about it and maybe she kind of has stolen the cat? She feeds it and leaves her window open for it and even bought a goddamn cat bed for the thing and _oh my God I stole her cat_.

That thought doesn’t bother Daisy that much when she gets home late one night and Rose (and seriously, who names their cat _Rose_?) walks up to her, meowing in a way that seems almost distressed. Daisy picks her up, calls her a shithead, and walks back out into the hallway, knocking on Jemma’s door.

Jemma opens the door in an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants patterned with some kind of blue—is that a _police box_? She’s rubbing at her eyes tiredly, and Daisy suddenly realizes just how late it is.

“Sorry,” she says. “I just—“ she holds Rose up and smiles apologetically. Jemma sighs and reaches for the cat.

Rose _does not_ like that at _all_. The moment Daisy sets her in Jemma’s arms, she begins to thrash, kicking and hissing. Jemma tries to keep hold of her, but she escapes back into Daisy’s arms.

“That is _it_ ,” Jemma announces as Rose curls up in Daisy’s arms and glares at her owner. “You can have her. She clearly likes you more.”

“Have her?” Daisy repeats. “She’s your cat.”

“Not according to her,” Jemma grumbles, glaring right back at Rose. “I think she’s old enough to get a say in it.” Daisy hesitates, unsure how serious Jemma is being.

“Well, you’ve been her mom a lot longer,” she eventually says. “I think you probably get, like, visitation rights or something.” Jemma looks up from her staring contest with the cat that was formerly hers and looks at Daisy curiously.

“Visitation rights?” she echoes.

“Yeah,” Daisy says. Her stomach is twisting nervously now, but she ignores it. “Like, say, family dinner tomorrow? We moms should try to get along. For Rose’s sake.” Jemma begins to smile.

“Can’t let your cat develop familial bonding issues,” she says.

“Exactly,” Daisy agrees. “Six o’clock at my place? I can’t cook, but I’m really good at ordering takeout Thai food. And I have canned tuna for Rose.” Jemma is grinning now, and even in her ridiculous pajamas, she’s probably the most beautiful person Daisy has ever met.

“I’ll be there,” Jemma agrees.

“Great,” Daisy says. She’s aware that she’s probably smiling like an idiot, she just can’t seem to make herself stop. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Good night, Daisy.”

“Night, Jemma.” Jemma closes her door, and Daisy carries Rose back to her apartment, still grinning. “You know, you don’t like your ex-mom that much,” she murmurs to Rose as she closes her apartment door. “But I think I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


	4. you can have all my time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for thehistorynut19 on tumblr: jemma mistakes bobbi trying to help daisy ask jemma out as daisy and bobbi dating. i went a sort of different direction but here we are. enjoy.

In hindsight, the entire misunderstanding was sort of Jemma’s fault. Not that she’ll ever admit it. It was an honest mistake. Anyone could’ve made it.

Really, though, she had walked into the bathroom to find Daisy and Bobbi leaning against the sinks side by side, Bobbi laughing and Daisy blushing but smiling, and that’s—it’s not just her, that has implications. Right?

And a week later, she walks past them at lunch to see Daisy blushing again as Bobbi throws an arm around her shoulders, so really, it’s not like Jemma making assumptions is totally unwarranted. Sure, the action could be friendly, but Jemma has been harboring a ridiculous crush on Daisy since they had P.E. together freshman year, and she’s really, really good at self-sabotage. So she assumes that Bobbi and Daisy are dating, and it maybe crushes her soul a little bit.

The week after that, Daisy finds Jemma in the library after school and asks her if she wants to get coffee. Jemma agrees, of course, because Daisy has a girlfriend but that doesn’t mean they can’t be friends, and besides, she’s actively repressing her crush on Daisy, so it’s okay.

Coffee goes well, and Jemma is not hypnotized by the way Daisy gestures wildly when she’s excited, and she definitely doesn’t stare at her until Daisy asks her if she’s alright, because that would just be stupid.

Daisy hugs her before they leave the coffee shop, and Jemma pointedly ignores the pleasant, fluttery sensation in her chest, because Daisy has a girlfriend and that is not appropriate, not at all.

That weekend, they go to the mall, just Daisy and Jemma. They wander through some chain store that makes cheap knockoffs of Forever 21 designs (how they managed to be even lower quality than Forever 21, Jemma isn’t sure; by all logic, it should be a scientific impossibility) and make fun of the ridiculous clothing. They get bad pizza in the food court and have a thirty minute argument about the validity of Hawaiian pizza as a food choice (Jemma doesn’t see the problem with it. When she tells Daisy this, Daisy threatens to, quote, _excommunicate_ her), and Daisy insists on paying for it. Daisy drives her home a few hours later in the ridiculous van her father had given her the year before (apparently, it’s a remnant of Coulson’s hippie years. Jemma tries not to think about that), blasting the radio with the windows down and it’s completely ridiculous but Jemma’s heart is pounding in her chest the entire drive home.

This time, Daisy walks Jemma to her door and kisses her on the cheek before leaving. Jemma slams the door in her face so quickly that she’s pretty sure she nearly hits Daisy with it. She rests her forehead against the closed door and takes slow, deep breaths, trying to force the blush out of her cheeks.

The following Monday, she’s putting her books away before lunch when she hears Bobbi’s voice from behind her.

“You’ll work it out,” she’s saying as she and Daisy pass by Jemma’s locker. Daisy doesn’t seem to notice her presence. “And you know you’ve got me, even if you don’t.”

“I know,” Daisy says, sounding grateful. Their voices fade as they walk on down the hall. Jemma chances a glance after them. Bobbi has her arm around Daisy’s shoulders again, and Jemma feels her chest constrict painfully. She forces the feeling down and slams her locker, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary.

That afternoon, Daisy finds her in the library again, this time during Jemma’s study hall period. She slides into the seat across from her and props her chin on her hands.

“Hey,” she says, grinning. Jemma swallows down the nerves that instantly rise in her chest and smiles back at Daisy. “You wanna ditch sixth period and go get tacos?” Jemma almost says yes. She really, really, _really_ wants to say yes.

“I can’t,” she says instead. Daisy rolls her eyes.

“Oh, come on,” she says. “You have, what, chemistry sixth period? We both know you’re way too smart to need to go to that class.”

“It’s not that,” Jemma says, shaking her head. “It’s—I can’t, okay?” It comes out sounding more upset than she intends to. Daisy sits up straight, frowning at her.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asks, reaching across the table and setting her hand on one of Jemma’s. Jemma pulls her hand away, ignoring both the pleasant tingling the touch elicits and Daisy’s hurt expression.

“Nothing,” she says. Daisy clearly doesn’t believe her for a second. Jemma sighs heavily. “Look, Daisy,” she begins. “I like you, okay? I like you a lot, and I know that you’re with Bobbi, and it’s completely my fault for not having better control over my emotions, but hanging out with you like this is making it rather difficult to get over you, so I—I just don’t think I should hang out with you for awhile. I’m sorry.” Daisy stares at her, openmouthed, for long enough that Jemma begins to get uncomfortable.

“ _What_?” she says eventually, sounding utterly confused.

“I like you—“

“Not that,” Daisy interrupts. “I got that part, but—me with _Bobbi_?” Jemma frowns.

“What about it?” she asks. Daisy shakes her head, lowering her face into her hands and sighing heavily.

“You think I’m dating Bobbi?” she reiterates.

“Are you not?”

“ _No_ , Jemma, I’m not—“ Daisy cuts herself off, leaning back in her chair and staring up at the ceiling. “ _Christ_ , did you think coffee and the mall were, like, _platonic_ things?”

“They weren’t?”

“Those were _dates_ ,” Daisy says, lowering her gaze and shaking her head at Jemma. “I was taking you on dates.”

“…oh,” Jemma says, suddenly feeling very, very stupid.

“Yeah,” Daisy says. “God, I just thought you weren’t into me.”

“That is _definitely_ not it,” Jemma says quickly. “That’s not—no. I mean yes, I’m into you, I just—“

“Jemma,” Daisy interrupts. She’s half-smiling now, sort of exasperatedly but mostly happily. “Do you want to ditch sixth period to go on a date?” Jemma closes her eyes, takes a deep, calming breath, and exhales before opening them again.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it! i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake. my fic requests are always open; leave a comment here or send me an ask! leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


	5. sinking never felt so sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt from anon for skimmons as high school teachers.

“Morning, Jemma,” a familiar voice says from the door to Jemma’s classroom. Jemma looks up, already feeling the beginnings of a blush. Daisy is leaning against the doorframe, holding a cardboard coffee cup carrier and grinning.

“Good morning, Daisy,” Jemma manages to say. Daisy steps into the room, picking one of the four white cups up and holding it up.

“Earl grey, right?” she asks, walking over to Jemma and setting it on her desk. “Say yes, the coffee place only had the one kind and I have to plan a lesson for fourth period before school starts.” Daisy walks around the desk, sitting on the edge beside Jemma, seemingly entirely unaware of the… _suggestive_ nature of the action.

“That’s right,” Jemma says, taking the cup and wrapping her hands around it, partially because it’s pleasantly warm and partially to keep herself from reaching for Daisy’s hand where it rests on the edge of the desk. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Daisy says. “You get all red when I do things for you. It’s cute.” Jemma turns red, and Daisy’s grin widens. “Just like that,” she murmurs. Her hand closest to Jemma begins to lift off the desk, reaching out, like she’s about to touch Jemma’s face.

Someone coughs awkwardly from the doorway. Daisy’s hand falls, and she straightens up off the desk.

“I’ll see you at lunch, Jemma,” she says over her shoulder as she turns and heads for the door. She nods at Fitz as she passes him in the doorway. He steps into the room, letting the door close behind him.

“Just ask her out already,” he grumbles, sitting down on one of the student desks across from Jemma’s desk and crossing his arms.

“ _Fitz_!” Jemma says, scandalized. “I am _not_ going to ask her out!”

“Why not?”

“Because!” Jemma says, waving her free hand wildly. “She’s a coworker, and it’s wildly inappropriate, and we work in a _high school_ , Fitz! What if the students caught wind of it?”

“And because you’re scared she doesn’t like you back,” Fitz adds, ignoring all of Jemma’s _perfectly reasonable_ arguments. “Jemma, what was she saying when I walked in?” Jemma flushes but doesn’t answer. “That’s what I thought,” he says, nodding in satisfaction. “She’s clearly interested, and I am _beyond_ sick of watching you two be idiots.” The warning bell rings. Fifteen minutes until first period starts. “Ask her out,” Fitz says, standing. “Or I’ll tell her you like her.”

“ _Fitz_ —“ It’s too late. He’s already walked out the door, and— “Daisy?”

“Yeah,” Daisy says, stepping back into the room. She’s smiling, but it’s awkward, stilted. “Um, I left my…” She gestures at Jemma’s desk, where the coffee cup holder is still sitting, three white cups in it.

“Of course,” Jemma says, picking it up and standing. She walks over to Daisy and holds it out. Daisy closes the door, and _oh God_ , she moves the magnet that Jemma uses to keep it propped open, meaning the door had been ajar during her and Fitz’s entire conversation. “How long were you out there?” Jemma asks, keeping her voice carefully even. Daisy sets the coffee carrier on the desk beside them.

“Awhile,” she says. “I, um, I heard most of that.” Jemma winces.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I know it’s entirely inappropriate and I—Look, I—I’ll get over it. It’s not a big deal. I’m sorry. I’ll get over it.” Daisy steps forward, and Jemma instinctively takes a step back, trying to maintain the distance between them, and _yep_ , that’s a desk she’s backed up against.

“What if I don’t want you to?” Daisy asks, setting her palms on the desk on either side of Jemma and stepping forward, and this is _not appropriate at all_ but Jemma’s brain isn’t exactly functioning properly in this close of proximity to Daisy, so she can’t bring herself to protest.

“What?” is all she manages to say, in a half-whisper.

“What if I don’t want you to get over it?” Daisy repeats. Jemma’s mouth is refusing to form words. Her eyes drop to Daisy’s lips, and that seems to be the sign Daisy is waiting for, because she leans in and kisses Jemma, pushing their bodies even closer together.

Jemma’s hands move from their careful position at her sides before she can even think about it, one pressing against the small of Daisy’s back and the other sliding up into her hair. A second later she realizes that the action is maybe a little presumptuous, but Daisy is okay with it, judging from the way her mouth curves against Jemma’s, like she’s holding back a smile.

There’s a sharp knock on the door. Daisy leaps back like she’s been tased, leaving Jemma flustered and gaping. They both turn to look at the source of the noise.

“Hi, Ms. Simmons, Ms. Johnson,” the boy behind the narrow window on the door says, his voice muffled. It’s Flint Jason, and Jemma sighs in relief. He’s a good kid; responsible, smart, and most importantly, likely to keep his damn mouth shut if she tells him to. She walks over, opening the door.

“Good morning, Flint,” she says, clearing her throat and doing her absolute best to not look like one of her students just caught her making out with another teacher. “Did you finish your lab?” He holds up his notebook with a grin and a nod, and walks over to his desk to set his things down.

“I’ll, uh, see you at lunch?” Daisy murmurs to Jemma. “We can…talk.”

“Yes,” Jemma says. “Yes, we’ll—yes.”

“Okay,” Daisy says. “Good.” She wanders out the door, shooting one last grin over her shoulder at Jemma. Jemma watches her go for a moment before turning to look at Flint, who is sitting at his desk, grinning at her.

“Flint—“

“I’m not gonna say anything,” Flint interrupts. “I don’t know why you guys keep it a secret, though. The whole school already knows you’re together.”

“We’re—what? We’re not together.”

“Sure, Ms. Simmons.”

“We’re _not_.”

“I agreed with you!” Jemma shakes her head, sighing.

“Just—keep it to yourself,” she says. Flint nods, still grinning. Jemma rubs her temples as she walks back over to her desk. It’s too early for this shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake. feel free to send prompts or leave one in the comments any time. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


	6. we're taking the long way home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt fill for anon: "there are loads of empty seats on this train but you chose to sit next to me AU". to the person who requested a fic on here: i'm working on it. promise.

Daisy just wants to _sleep_ , damn it. She’s been up for nearly twenty hours, and while she’s obviously grateful to Coulson for convincing the government to hire her when her qualifications amount to half of a high school education and an impressive track record of illegal hacking, he hadn’t exactly outlined during her job interview that she’d be getting two hours of sleep on the break room couch in between shifts at least twice a month or whenever some international emergency came up, which happened with surprising frequency. She would’ve still taken the job, but a warning would’ve been nice.

She really should suck it up and move into the city. Forty-five minutes on a train is _not_ a good way to end a hellishly long day, especially when she can’t _fucking_ sleep. It’s not because she’s scared of missing her stop; she knows every single person who works on this route, since she’s been taking it at consistently bizarre hours for the past four years, and the woman who had collected her ticket earlier will be back in twenty minutes, when they reach Daisy’s stop, to shake Daisy awake and direct her off of the train.

No, Daisy can’t sleep because there’s someone _sitting next to her_. Right next to her. It’s three in the _goddamn_ morning, and every single seat on the train is empty except the two taken up by Daisy and the _inhumanly obnoxious_ woman sitting next to her.

Maybe that judgment is a bit hasty. Daisy considers, for a moment, that she shouldn’t outright hate a stranger for something as minor as sitting next to her on a train. Then she remembers that it is _three in the fucking morning_ , and the woman has _not_ stopped talking on her phone since she got on the train and sat down next to Daisy, and yes, maybe she has a sort of adorable British accent, and maybe Daisy is eighty-five percent sure she’s seen the woman in the lab at work before, but Daisy needs either fifteen hours of sleep or an adrenaline drip, and she would be sleeping _right now_ if it wasn’t for this woman.

So Daisy decides that she absolutely _detests_ the pretty British woman. She passive-aggressively puts in her headphones, making the movement as obvious as she possibly can, the message _clearly_ being that she doesn’t want to listen to this woman talk. Unfortunately, the woman doesn’t seem to notice. Daisy shifts in her seat and crosses her arms grumpily, her headphones still in. She’s not playing anything; she’s fairly sure that, if she tried to listen to music right now, her already fuzzy and fading brain would liquidize.

Two stops later, the woman _finally_ puts down her phone. Daisy (accidentally, for the record) lets out an audible sigh of relief, and that’s what finally gets the woman’s attention.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she says in a voice much too energetic for the hour. “Was I bothering you?” _Are things different in Britain_? Daisy wonders idly. _Do they not teach their kids to never directly acknowledge other people’s existence on public transport_?

“Whatever,” Daisy mumbles, pulling the hood of her hoodie up and slouching. It’s pretty much the universal body language for _leave me alone_. Apparently not in Britain, though, because the woman keeps talking.

“I didn’t mean to,” she continues. “It was a very important work call, though, and—“

“Okay, look,” Daisy interrupts. She’s being rude and childish, but it’s late and she’s exhausted and she’s pretty sure that, unless she says something, this woman will _never_ be quiet. “I really don’t care what your phone call was about as long as it’s over. I just want to sleep, alright?” The woman blinks, polite smile slipping into a slight frown.

“Of course,” she says apologetically. “I’m sorry.” She looks so genuinely hurt that Daisy almost feels bad about snapping at her, but not bad enough to apologize. Instead, she shifts in her seat, getting comfortable, and closes her eyes.

Maybe five seconds later, someone shakes her awake.

“No,” Daisy mumbles, shifting closer to her pillow.

“It’s your stop next,” an accented voice says softly. Daisy groans, opening her eyes slightly, wincing at the soft electric lights in the train. _The train_. She’s on the train home, meaning she definitely does _not_ have a pillow.

Daisy jerks her head off of the British woman’s shoulder, feeling her cheeks go bright red.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, keeping her gaze on the floor.

“It’s no problem, really,” the woman says. Suddenly her voice sounds less irritating and more gentle, kind. “It’s the least I could do after keeping you up.” Daisy raises an eyebrow.

“The least you could do is let a total stranger use you as a pillow?” she asks. The woman blushes.

“Well…yes,” she says. “But you’re not a _total_ stranger. You fixed my boss’s computer, once.” Daisy frowns. She thought she recognized this woman.

“I fix a lot of computers,” she says. “It’s most of my job.”

“Right,” the woman says, nodding. “Bobbi Morse? Biochemistry department?” Daisy frowns deeper, trying to remember.

“Right,” she says, snapping her fingers. Bobbi Morse. Tall, blonde, intimidating, kind of a sarcastic bitch. Daisy remembers wanting to befriend her. “You work in the lab. Simmons, right?”

“Jemma,” the woman corrects. “And you’re…Daisy?”

“Yeah,” Daisy confirms. “Sorry for snapping at you earlier. And…thanks for being my pillow, I guess.” That blush lights up Jemma’s face again, and _oh_ , she’s cute when she’s embarrassed.

“No problem,” she says. “I know how it is, working late.”

“Yeah,” Daisy agrees. “Hey, how come I’ve never seen you on the train before?”

“I just moved out of the city,” Jemma says. “It was too busy for me.” Daisy nods, and she’s about to speak when the train slows, the robotic voice overhead announcing that they’ve arrived at Daisy’s stop. Jemma slides her legs out of the way as Daisy stands and steps into the aisle.

“I’ll see you around,” Daisy says, grinning at Jemma. She still feels like she’s about to pass out, sure, and she’s keeping one hand firmly on an empty seat so she doesn’t fall over, but Jemma smiles at her before she turns around and gets off the train, and Daisy thinks that maybe she can deal with the commute time after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it! my fic requests are always open; leave a comment here or send me an ask on tumblr @daisys-quake. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed!


	7. i'm burning like a fuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for FMLClexa here on ao3: "it started with a fire, which a lot of things do. not usually a microwave fire, but still." it's a high school au because apparently i'm incapable of writing anything else. i hope you like it :)

Daisy knees her desk so hard when the fire alarm goes off that she’ll probably have a bruise tomorrow morning. She curses loudly, jumping to her feet. She was _just_ getting to sleep, too. May had put on a movie, meaning that Daisy had at least a forty percent chance of being able to sleep through the period without getting caught, but no. _Someone_ had to set off the fire alarm.

“Didn’t we have a fire drill last week?” Daisy shouts at Bobbi Morse as they walk into the already crowded hallway.

“I don’t think it’s a drill,” Bobbi shouts back over the blaring of the alarm.

“It’s probably the fucking home ec kids again,” Daisy speculates. The home economics class has set off the alarm four times this year. Teenagers shouldn’t be given access to kitchens. A month ago, Lance Hunter had managed to _detonate_ a pan of brownies, although Daisy is fairly sure that was intentional.

“Probably,” Bobbi agrees. They walk out the back doors of the school, headed for their class’s meet up spot in the parking lot. Daisy is tempted to just ditch; her van is waiting in the parking lot, and the only class she has after May’s is a free period. She’s taken three classes with May since freshman year, and chances are good that, once they’e all back inside, May will just pretend not to notice her absence.

“I’m gonna take off,” Daisy tells Bobbi as they walk through the crowded parking lot, full of confused teenagers milling about and harried adults pointlessly yelling at them. “You wanna come?”

“I’m good,” Bobbi says. Daisy nods and slips away into the crowd, headed for the second parking lot behind the school, where there are no students and hypothetically only staff cars. Daisy had stolen a parking decal two months ago and slapped it on her windshield. The overworked security guards haven’t bothered to question why a van that probably hasn’t been in the shop since 1975 suddenly started showing up in the staff parking lot every morning. It’s made Daisy’s life infinitely easier.

What doesn’t make Daisy’s life easier, though, is sneaking around the corner of the building and seeing Jemma Simmons leaning against the concrete wall of the school, crying.

Daisy doesn’t have a problem with Jemma. Well, she’s had a crush on her since Jemma showed up at the start of the year with her cute accent and cute smile and cute laugh and—anyway, _that’s_ certainly caused Daisy a number of problems, but it isn’t a problem in and of itself. What _is_ a problem is the fact that Jemma is crying, and Daisy never learned what to do with crying girls, let alone crying girls that she’s, like, thirty percent in love with.

“Hey,” Daisy says. Jemma practically jumps, springing off the wall and swiping at her tears. “Um, are you okay?”

“Fine,” Jemma snaps, her voice rough from crying and clearly not fine. “What are you doing back here?”

“I’m leaving,” Daisy says, pointing at her van. “Why are you crying?” She winces. “I mean, why are you upset?” Not much better. “What’s up?” Daisy gives up and firmly closes her mouth.

“It’s nothing,” Jemma mutters, sniffling.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Daisy comments, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s stupid.”

“We’re in high school,” Daisy deadpans. “Everything is stupid. What’s wrong?” Jemma smiles a bit at that, taking a few deep breaths and wiping at her face.

“Promise not to tell?”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Daisy says. Jemma stares at her blankly. “Cause I’m leaving? Right? If I told then you could tell on me for ditching class…never mind. I promise I won’t tell.” Jemma nods, as if she’s psyching herself up for something.

“I set off the fire alarm,” she blurts, in the same sort of tone one would use when pleading guilty to murder. Daisy blinks at her.

“Was applied chemistry for supergeniuses _that_ boring?” is the first thing out of her mouth, and Daisy mentally slaps herself.

“It wasn’t on _purpose_!” Jemma says, scandalized. “Who would do something like that?”

“Me,” Daisy says bluntly. “Junior year. I hated physics.” Jemma’s jaw drops. “So how’d you do it then?” Daisy asks, eager to move the conversation along. “If you didn’t pull the alarm, how’d you set it off?” Jemma’s gaze drops. She mumbles something _completely_ incoherent, glancing up when Daisy doesn’t respond and sighing at the blank look on her face.

“I—“ Jemma cuts herself off with a sigh. “Look, have you ever microwaved a grape?”

“Why the _hell_ would I want a warm grape?”

“That’s not—“ Jemma shakes her head. “It was pure scientific curiosity! Of course I _knew_ what would happen, but knowing something on an intellectual level and witnessing it for yourself are two different things.”

“Jemma,” Daisy says. “What happens to grapes when you microwave them?”

“They catch fire,” Jemma says. “I underestimated the size of the resulting flame, and—well.” She gestures at the school. The fire alarm is still standing.

“So you’re saying you caused this with a microwave fire,” Daisy says. Jemma nods. “And you’re back here crying because…”

“Because what happens when they find out I did it?” Jemma asks.

“Blame it on somebody else,” Daisy says with a shrug. “You have, like, a 5.0 GPA. They’re not going to expect it to be you. It’s not like anyone saw you do it.” Jemma doesn’t respond. “Wait, no one saw you do it, did they?”

“My whole class,” Jemma mumbles. “Dr. Hall left the room, and Fitz had grapes leftover from lunch, and I…”

“Okay, that might be a little harder to get out of,” Daisy concedes. “But hey, you’ve never gotten in trouble before in your life. Worst case scenario, they’ll charge you for the microwave.” Jemma closes her eyes, exhaling heavily. She looks absolutely terrified, and Daisy feels a sharp pang go through her chest. “Hey, while we’re breaking rules, you wanna break a few more?” Jemma opens her eyes, frowning at Daisy in confusion. Daisy holds up the keys to her van. “I’m ditching sixth period. You wanna come?” Jemma frowns uncertainly.

“I shouldn’t,” she says.

“You shouldn’t have microwaved a grape, either. We’re teenagers. We’re known for our poor decision-making abilities.” Jemma still doesn’t look convinced. The fire alarm suddenly stops. “Now or never,” Daisy says, turning and walking towards her van.

She doesn’t look back, but when she unlocks her van, Jemma climbs into the passenger side and smiles shyly at Daisy.

“Where are we headed?” Jemma asks as they pull out of the parking lot, now empty of students. Daisy shrugs, turning on the radio.

“Haven’t decided yet.” That answer doesn’t seem to make Jemma happy, but when Daisy lowers her hand from the volume dial, Jemma catches it in her own and settles their joined hands on the center console. She blushes and looks away when Daisy glances at her.

Daisy grins, pulling out onto the main road. Maybe this will be her year after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there ya go! my fic requests are always open; leave a comment here or send me an ask on tumblr @daisys-quake. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed!


	8. looking like that, you'll open some wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt fill for anon: "skimmons hs au (maybe) prompt: 'person A nearly fell down the stairs because person b (their crush) looked at them'". high school au (again), more family feels than skimmons but it's still gay as always. enjoy.

“And this happened how, exactly?” May asks as she examines the impressive bruise on Daisy’s shoulder.

“Accidentally,” Daisy says. May looks up at her with the particular iteration of emotionlessness that Daisy has come to understand as her _no fucking shit_ face.

“I assumed so,” May says flatly, returning her gaze to Daisy’s shoulder. She pokes at it, and Daisy hisses as she hits a particularly painful spot.

“I tripped?” Daisy tries. May pokes the spot again. “ _Ow_.”

“Sorry,” May says, not sounding particularly apologetic. Daisy sighs, rotating her injured shoulder and grimacing as the motion tugs at her equally bruised ribs. May hands her an icepack and leans back against the washing machine behind her, across from where Daisy is perched on the edge of the counter by the bathroom sink. Daisy presses the icepack to her shoulder and sighs. “No one pushed you?” May asks after a moment. Daisy’s eyebrows shoot up.

“ _No_ ,” she says, shocked. “Why would you think that?” May shrugs.

“Just making sure,” she says. “Phil worries about you.” _Translation: we both worry about you_. Daisy smiles, enjoying the warm feeling in her chest caused by the idea.

“I know,” she says. “I appreciate it.” It’s maybe a weird thing to say, but it’s the truth. Daisy has been alone pretty much her whole life until the last few months. It feels good to have someone worry about her. Even if it is over something as stupid as falling down the stairs.

“So are you going to tell me why you really ‘tripped’?” May asks. She doesn’t make the air quotes, but Daisy swears she can hear them. She looks away, focusing on holding the icepack on her shoulder. She mumbles something that not even she can understand, turning bright red as she does so. She glances over at May, whose only reaction is a single arched eyebrow. Daisy sighs, resigning herself to fast-approaching humiliation.

“I sort of wasn’t looking where I was going,” she begins. “Because…Jemma smiled at me.” May’s impassive face gains the barest hints of amusement, which is as good as a full-out laugh from anyone else.

“You fell down the stairs because the girl you like smiled at you?” May asks.

“Oh my _God_ , Mom,” Daisy mumbles, rolling her eyes. “I don’t _like_ her. I just think she’s pretty. And smart. And funny.” She clamps her mouth shut, returning her attention to the icepack. May straightens up off the washing machine and sets a hand on Daisy’s uninjured shoulder.

“Well, I’m sure it will make for a good story once you ask her out,” she says.

“ _Mom_.” May raises her hands in surrender.

“Ice for twenty minutes, rest for twenty minutes, repeat,” she instructs. “I’ll call Phil and have him get pizza on his way home. You’ve suffered enough today, you don’t need to suffer through his cooking.” Daisy grins.

“Thanks, Mom,” she says. It still feels unbelievably good to say that; to call someone _Mom_ and get a smile (or the closest May ever gets to a smile) in return.

“Of course, kid,” she says, ruffling Daisy’s hair. Daisy makes a vague noise of discontentment and dodges away from the motion. “I still think you should ask Jemma out.”

“Mom!”

“I’m going,” May says, stepping towards the bathroom door. “I’m going.” She steps out, and Daisy leans back against the wall, moving her shoulder again. It’s going to hurt for a while.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out with her free hand, frowning curiously. It’s Jemma’s name on the lock screen. She swipes the notification, and a text message pops up.

_Hey! I saw you fall down the stairs today. I would’ve stopped to help, but I had to get to class. Are you okay?_

Daisy taps on Jemma’s contact. She bites her lip, glances at the door, and thinks about May’s words. She takes a deep, nervous breath, and taps the call button, holding the phone up to her ear as it begins to ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it! my fic requests are always open; leave a comment here or send me an ask on tumblr @daisys-quake. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed!


	9. i'm just curious, is it serious?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt from anon: "skimmons "im just curious, is it serious?" From hayley kiyoko's curious". set in early s2 bc fuck fitzsimmons rn man. i used to not mind them but jfc. anyways. enjoy.

“Come in,” Jemma calls at the sound of a knock on her door. She’s not expecting Trip yet, and it’s not like him to be early.

“Hey,” Skye says, opening the door. “You wanna—oh. You’re, um…”

“All dressed up?” Jemma asks, amused. “I have a date with Trip.”

“Right,” Skye says. “That’s—something that is…happening.” Jemma glances up at her in the mirror, smiling.

“It’s been happening,” she says, shaking her head in amusement. “Have you not noticed?” Skye shrugs.

“I mean, I guess?” she asks. “Lots going on, what with the rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. and the worldwide hatred of everything to do with us and all that.”

“Well, yes,” Jemma says, looking back to the mirror and frowning with dissatisfaction at her makeup. “It is, indeed, something that is happening.”

“I guess no movie night, then?” Skye asks, holding up a DVD case and pouting. “Since it’s, y’know, the third date and all.” Jemma gives her a _look_. “Okay, fine, I’ll go now.”

“No, you don’t have to leave,” Jemma says quickly. She isn’t really sure why; Trip will be here in twenty minutes, and she needs to finish her makeup, but—she likes having Skye around. She always has. Skye’s presence may be chaotic and distracting, but it’s also oddly calming. A reminder that, while her life seems kind of terrible around ninety percent of the time, there are some good things in it. Some _great_ things. “Wait a moment,” Jemma says, suddenly realizing something. She turns around in her chair to face Skye. “How do you know it’s our third date?” Skye winces. “You _have_ been paying attention.”

“Maybe.” Skye won’t meet her eyes, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the mirror.

“Why are you being so weird about this, then?” Jemma asks. A thought suddenly occurs to her. _What if Skye likes Trip_? The idea fills her with—is that _jealousy_? But that’s ridiculous. She’s been on two dates with Trip, there’s no way she would be jealous of his _nonexistent_ relationship with Skye. They’re friends, but she’s fairly sure getting drunk and playing Call of Duty together isn’t how Trip flirts. He’s much smoother than that.

It’s probably how Skye flirts, though, or at least something along those lines, and _oh God, what if Skye likes Trip?_

“Do you like Trip?” Jemma blurts. Well. At least she’s not avoiding the question. Skye scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“I do not like _Trip_ ,” Skye says. “Jesus. He’s like a really annoying brother. I only keep him around because he can cook.” That makes sense to Jemma. Trip _is_ an excellent cook.

“Then what’s wrong?” Jemma asks, focusing on the matter at hand. Skye shakes her head. “Come on, sit down.” Jemma points at the bed beside her chair. Skye hesitates. “ _Sit_.” Skye sits. “What’s wrong?” Jemma repeats.

“Nothing,” Skye says. Jemma gives her a flat look. “Nothing _new_ ,” Skye elaborates. “Childhood trauma, emotional repression, world probably ending somewhere. All the usual stuff.” Jemma crosses her arms. Skye sighs heavily. “Look, Jemma, this thing with you and Trip…” _Finally_ , Jemma thinks. _We’re getting somewhere_. “Is it…I dunno, serious?” Jemma blinks. That isn’t what she was expecting. Granted, she doesn’t really know what she was expecting, but not that.

“I mean, it’s our third date,” she says. “So hardly.”

“But do you see it going somewhere?” Skye presses. “Like, eventually?” Jemma’s existing frown deepens.

“I—I suppose I haven’t really thought about it,” she says. “Like I said, it’s our third date. Why?” Skye shakes her head.

“Nothing,” she mutters. “I’m going to go.” She moves as if to stand, but Jemma catches her with a hand on her leg. Skye freezes.

“Talk to me,” Jemma says quietly. “Why are you shutting me out? What’s really wrong?”

“The usual,” Skye repeats. “Fucking terrified of everything, all the time. Hopeless, ridiculous, _stupid_ crush on my best friend. Training is—“

“Wait, what?” Jemma interrupts. “You—“

“I don’t like _Trip_ , Jemma,” Skye says, forcing the words out roughly. “I like _you_.” Jemma’s mouth falls open, just a bit.

“…oh,” she murmurs. Skye shakes her head, pushing Jemma’s hand off her leg.

“Yeah,” she mutters, standing up. “ _Oh_.”

“Skye, I…”

“I’ll see you, Jemma,” Skye says, cutting her off. “Have fun on your date.” With that, she ducks out the door.

“I like you, too,” Jemma says to the empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it! my fic requests are always open; leave a comment here or send me an ask on tumblr @daisys-quake. anything from dialogue to a setting to song lyrics like this one. check out my other skimmons fics, and leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


	10. you can't die in my arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt from anon: "skimmons and “please, you can’t die now". takes place between s3 and s4, under my usual headcanon that jemma and daisy kept in contact to an extent during the timeskip. enjoy.

Daisy wakes up in a hospital bed. Not in a hospital, judging from the cracked ceiling above her that bulges just enough to be a bit disturbing, but definitely a hospital bed. She recognizes the feeling of thin, scratchy sheets, and that’s _definitely_ a hospital gown she’s wearing.

“Don’t sit up,” a familiar voice says from beside her. Daisy turns her head, and _wow_ , what did she do to herself this time? Even shifting her neck a few inches to the left hurts.

“Jemma,” Daisy mumbles, the words coming out a lot more slurred than she intended. “Where…?”

“We’re in a hotel room,” Jemma says, and Daisy’s eyes flit around as best they can. She is, indeed, in a hotel room, and the bed she’s in has been outfitted with hospital sheets. A distinctly DIY-looking IV pole stands beside her, and her gaze follows the clear tube hanging from it down into her arm. She tries to ask what it is, but her mouth is dry and gummy. “It’s morphine,” Jemma says. Daisy frowns. She doesn’t _feel_ high. Groggy, certainly, but not the morphine high she knows from years of almost dying. “It’s closed right now,” Jemma explains, understanding Daisy’s confused look effortlessly. “I wanted to wake you up and see how you were.” Daisy licks her lips. It’s a fruitless motion; her tongue is as dry and useless as her lips.

“I’ll get you some water,” Jemma murmurs, gently pushing Daisy’s hair away from her forehead. “Can you sit up?” Daisy shifts and immediately groans in pain. She still doesn’t remember what she did, but she feels like she got hit by a semi. “I’ll get you some ice,” Jemma amends. “I’ll be right back.” She walks out of Daisy’s field of view. Daisy takes a deep breath, wincing. _Definitely cracked a rib_ , she decides. Her arms are aching, too, but that’s nothing new. They always hurt these days.

“Here,” Jemma says, reappearing. Daisy blinks. That seemed a bit too fast, but she writes it off as the haze in her mind resulting from a mixture of pain and a residual morphine high. Jemma pulls a piece of ice out of a cup in her hand. Her hands are smooth-looking, her nails flawless. She holds it out, and Daisy lets her place it in her mouth, holding it there as it melts into water. She feels immediately better, and allows Jemma to feed her several more small pieces of ice before speaking.

“What happened?” Daisy asks. This time, her voice comes out clear and steady, if a bit quiet. Jemma sighs, setting the cup of ice on the bedside table.

“You almost died.” Daisy shakes her head and immediately regrets the movement.

“What happened?” she repeats, because almost dying is pretty much a weekly occurrence for her at this point, and Jemma is going to need to be a bit more specific.

“You fell,” Jemma says, and Daisy’s memories come rushing back. She’d been fighting a group of Watchdogs on a rooftop, she remembers, and she had been losing. They hadn’t had guns, but they had had pretty much everything else, and there had been a _lot_ of them.

“I jumped,” Daisy corrects, and Jemma’s calm facade cracks apart. She rests her elbows on the side of the bed, letting her face fall into her hands. She makes a choked noise, halfway between a sob and a groan, and it makes Daisy’s chest hurt even more than it already does. “Jemma,” she says, pushing herself up a bit so she can see Jemma better, even though it makes her entire body ache to do so. “Jemma,” she says again. “I’m okay. It’s okay. I’m okay.” Jemma lifts her head from her hands. Tears are dripping down her face. Her eyes are red, and Daisy notices for the first time how incredibly exhausted she looks. Like her soul needs sleep.

“Four cracked ribs,” Jemma says, her voice high and fast. “A broken ankle. Deep tissue bruising all over your back and legs. Bone bruising on one elbow. A concussion so bad you’re lucky you can still see. Whiplash. Your arms—“

“I’m alive,” Daisy repeats.

“You’re not _going_ to be next time!” Jemma shouts. The volume sends a jolt of pain through Daisy’s already-aching head. Jemma sees her wince, and subsides a bit. “You’re not going to make it next time,” she repeats, more quietly. “The only reason you’re alive right now is sheer luck. If I hadn’t planted a tracker on you last time—“

“You _what_?” Daisy interrupts. Jemma waves a hand dismissively.

“It tracks your vitals,” she says. “And it is the _only_ reason you’re alive right now. You _died_ , Daisy. You were dead for nearly two minutes before I got to you. If you hadn’t been in LA, if I hadn’t been nearby—“

“I get it,” Daisy cuts her off. “It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, it will,” Jemma says. “We both know it will. You’ll do something stupid and heroic and you’ll get yourself _killed_.” Daisy would shrug if it didn’t hurt to move.

“Isn’t that what you want from me?” she says. “To be a hero?” It’s uncalled for. Daisy knows that. But she also doesn’t regret saying it. It’s how she feels sometimes. Everyone, everyone wants something from her. Even Jemma. Jemma, who has looked at her with everything from curiosity to love to fear over the past few years, but who has never, _never_ stopped looking at her expectantly.

“I want you to be _alive_ ,” Jemma snaps, her voice rising again. Daisy looks away. Jemma exhales, making a visible effort to stay calm, or at the very least, quiet. “I just…” She shakes her head, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. “I’ve already lost you enough. Not having you around is hard, even when I know you’re out there. You can’t die. You _can’t_.” Daisy reaches out, settling her hand that isn’t in a cast on Jemma’s. “ _Please_ , Daisy,” Jemma says, practically begging. “You can’t die now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Daisy says. “I promise.” The words ring hollowly in Daisy’s ears, and judging by the mournful look in Jemma’s eyes, she doesn’t believe them, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm always accepting prompts; leave a comment here or send me an ask on tumblr @daisys-quake. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


	11. time is better spent alone with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt fill for ohladybegood: "skimmons and fast food". pure fluff this time, which tbh i needed to write. i write so much angsty stuff that i forget how fun writing happy stuff is. anyways. hope y'all like it.

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m American,” Daisy corrects, pointing a French fry at Jemma.

“As I said.” Daisy shakes her head.

“When in Rome, right?” she says, dipping the fry in the milkshake in front of her and grinning when Jemma pulls a disgusted face. “Come on, you gotta at least _try_ it. You’re American for the year. If you’re not gonna lose the accent, you’re at least going to try our food.”

“You like my accent,” Jemma says. Daisy nods.

“I do,” she agrees. “It’s cute. I even like the way you refuse to call anything with less than a pound of butter in it a scone. But snobbery is only adorable up to a certain point, and I draw the line at refusing to dip fries in a milkshake.”

“It’s _gross_.”

“You haven’t even tried it!”

“I don’t need to,” Jemma insists. “You don’t need to mix mustard and mayonnaise to know they don’t go together.” Daisy huffs.

“I will leave you here,” she threatens. “I’ll make you walk home.” Jemma snorts. “I’m _serious_!”

“No, you aren’t,” Jemma says, and okay, Daisy isn’t, because it’s nearly two in the morning and she isn’t about to put Jemma in danger by making her walk, but damn it, she just wants to prove Jemma wrong.

“Well, I’m not kissing you until you try it,” Daisy announces. Jemma pauses.

“You’re not serious,” she says. Daisy crosses her arms, leaning back in her seat and raising her eyebrows. Jemma glares at her, and Daisy glares right back.

Jemma, inevitably, loses the staring contest.

“ _Fine_ ,” she says finally. “I’ll try it.” Daisy grins in triumph, dipping a fry in her shake and handing it to Jemma. Jemma gives it a suspicious look.

“Just eat it,” Daisy encourages, and Jemma sends her one last pout before biting into the fry. Her face goes blank, and she chews carefully before swallowing. “It’s good, isn’t it,” Daisy says, grinning.

“Shut up,” Jemma mutters, grabbing another one of Daisy’s fries and dipping it in her shake.

“I told you so.”

“ _Shut up_.” Daisy laughs, leaning back in the booth, and Jemma hides her smile in her soda. “I’m pretty sure I was promised a kiss now,” Jemma says after a minute. Daisy raises her eyebrows.

“Oh, were you,” she says. Jemma nods. “Well, I guess that’s not _too_ horribly inconvenient—“

“Oh, shut up and get over here,” Jemma orders. Laughing, Daisy half-stands, slipping around the table to the other bench and pulling Jemma into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it. i'm always taking prompts; leave a comment here or send me an ask on tumblr @daisys-quake. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


	12. picture us escaping in the background of the photo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for sicksister here on ao3, who wanted skimmons as cellmates. hope you like it!

Jemma wakes up to the sound of…well, she’s actually not entirely sure what the sound is. She’s gotten used to sleeping with various unidentified noises in the past month, since the prison is never quiet, but this one is both completely unfamiliar and very, very close by. She rolls onto her back, blinking at the darkness until the bottom of the bunk above her comes into focus. She frowns at it. Normally, the center of the mattress sags down between the metal bars of the frame whenever her cellmate is lying on it. Right now, though, the mattress sits on top of the frame, with no sign that it’s occupied.

Jemma sits up, glancing around the cell, and her eyes fall on the opposite corner. Johnson, her cellmate, is crouched in the corner, frozen in place, a guilty look on her face. The small bookshelf that’s been there since Jemma arrived just over a month ago, the one Johnson claims she received for good behavior, is pulled away from the wall, revealing a small hole behind where it usually sits.

Jemma begins to open her mouth to speak, but Johnson leaps forward, clapping a hand over Jemma’s mouth.

“No yelling,” Johnson hisses, holding up a sharpened… _something_ in her free hand. “I swear to God I’ll kill you.” Jemma stares at her, eyes wide, adrenaline pumping. Slowly, Johnson lifts her hand away.

“What the _hell_ are you _doing_?” Jemma whispers.

“Escaping,” Johnson says, just as quietly. “Duh.”

“But that’s—“ Jemma huffs, shaking her head. “If you get caught, you’ll get _years_ added to your sentence.”

“Well, no _shit_ ,” Johnson snaps. “But it’s not your problem. Just don’t say anything. Got it?” Jemma hesitates. Johnson’s knuckles turn white where they’re wrapped around the shiv.

“I won’t say anything,” Jemma whispers. “But you’re going to take me with you.” Johnson snorts.

“Take you with me,” she repeats. “Right. Aren’t you in here for killing someone?”

“That’s not—“ Jemma cuts herself off, closing her eyes and taking a few deep, calming breaths. “I was framed,” she says eventually, and Johnson laughs.

“Sure,” she says, grinning. “Weren’t we all.”

“I _was_!” Jemma insists. Johnson shakes her head. Jemma sighs, letting it go for now. “Look, either way, you have two choices here,” she hisses. “Either you take me with you, or I call a guard and you start over, in higher security with a few extra years on your sentence.”

“Or I can just kill you right now,” Johnson says, and Jemma’s eyes flick to the shiv in her hand. There’s a tense moment, where Jemma isn’t entirely sure she isn’t about to get stabbed. Then Johnson laughs and lowers the shiv. “You’re a lot braver than I gave you credit for,” she says to Jemma. “I like you.” Jemma lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “I guess I could use your freaky genius brain,” Johnson comments, slipping the shiv back into her shirt. “Don’t fuck this up for me.”

“I won’t,” Jemma promises. “Now, what’s the plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm always accepting prompts; leave a comment here or send me an ask on tumblr @daisys-quake. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for pizza-is-my-business on tumblr (who is easily my favorite skimmons author and if you haven't read all of their fics are you even in this fandom): "bro...that's so...not cool..." for skimmons. enjoy.

“Hold this,” Jemma says, holding out a oddly-shaped piece of metal with a wire attached. She doesn’t even look at Skye, her attention fixed on the readouts on her tablet. Skye blinks, glancing between her laptop and Jemma’s outstretched arm.

“What, me?” she asks. Jemma looks up from…a variety of scientific-looking tools that Skye doesn’t even begin to understand and sends Skye an exasperated look.

“Yes, _you_ ,” she says. “Hold this.” Shrugging, Skye reaches out to take the object. “Just don’t touch the—“

There’s a loud, electrical snapping sound. Skye experiences the incredibly uncomfortable sensation of her eyes rolling back in her head while she’s still conscious, and then everything goes black.

Skye groans loudly the moment she regains consciousness. She opens her eyes slowly, wincing at the bright lights of the lab above her. Jemma’s face appears above her, backlit and frowning with concern.

“Are you alright?” she asks. Or at least, that’s what Skye thinks she says. There’s a buzzing in Skye’s ears that prevents her from hearing Jemma.

“ _Bro_ …” she mumbles, because apparently _that’s_ the totally cool, normal thing to say that her half-fried brain decides is the rational option at the moment. “That’s so…not cool.”

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Jemma says, grabbing Skye’s face in one hand and tilting it to examine her pupils. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“I’m fine,” Skye says, pushing Jemma’s hand away. “I’m okay.” The words are maybe not that effective when slurred and accompanied by Skye closing her eyes and rubbing at her forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Skye,” Jemma repeats. Skye opens her eyes, pushing herself halfway into a sitting position on her elbows. Jemma looks more upset than Skye has ever seen her, with the possible exception of the time she jumped out of the plane because she thought she was going to explode.

“I’m okay,” Skye repeats, more firmly this time. She sits the rest of the way up, setting one of her hands on Jemma’s. Jemma frowns at her, eyebrows still drawn together in concern.

“That…I was about to tell you,” Jemma says, looking down at their hands. “Not to touch the pointy bit. It’s—“

“A taser,” Skye interrupts. “Yeah, I noticed.” Jemma winces, and Skye squeezes her hand lightly. “Look at me,” she says. Jemma looks up. “It’s okay,” Skye says. “I mean, will I be sore for the next three days? Probably. But it wasn’t your fault.” Jemma half-smiles. She meets Skye’s gaze, and the moment stretches with them sitting on the lab floor, holding hands, an all but palpable tension between them.

“Right!” Jemma announces, clearing her throat. She stands quickly, dropping Skye’s hand. Skye quickly hides her disappointment. Jemma grabs a clipboard off a nearby table and turns around. “I just want to make sure you’re fine,” Jemma says before Skye can protest. Skye groans, lying back down on the floor.

“Doctor mode was cute at first,” she says to the ceiling. “Not so much anymore. I swear I’m okay, Simmons.” Skye can’t see Jemma, since she’s currently staring at the ceiling, but she swears she can hear her suspicious look.

“If you feel sick you’ll tell me?” Jemma says. “Or if your head hurts or you get dizzy or—“

“I’ll come see you,” Skye cuts her off. She sits up again, this time pushing herself all the way to her feet. “Seriously, Jemma, you don’t have to worry about me. Just—maybe don’t hand me a taser? Like, ever again?” Jemma nods rapidly, and Skye smiles reassuringly at her. “Good. I’m gonna go take a nap now. I think you tased the energy to be awake out of me.”

“I’m sor—“

“You’re sorry,” Skye says. “I know, Jemma.” She steps forward, setting a hand on Jemma’s shoulder. “It’s okay.” She meets Jemma’s gaze, holding it until Jemma flushes and looks away. Skye squeezes her shoulder and walks away, wincing as every muscle in her body flares with pain. Behind her, Jemma leans back against the lab table and takes long, deep breaths, trying to clear the blush from her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not super happy with this one, but i hope you liked it. i'm always taking prompts. leave a comment here or send me an ask on tumblr @daisys-quake. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for waverly-earp on tumblr: "you've got to stop doing that" + skimmons.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Jemma says quietly as she threads a needle.

“Doing what?” Daisy asks, her tone flat and emotionless. Jemma misses the eye of the needle with the thread, and nearly drops both on the floor.

“Making damned _stupid_ decisions, that’s what,” Jemma snaps, trying the thread again. It goes through this time, and she ties it off with a deft motion.

“It wasn’t stupid,” Daisy replies, her own voice soft in contrast to Jemma’s half-angry tones. Jemma huffs, turning to face Daisy. Daisy is half-lying down, shirt tugged up to expose the gash in her side. She had refused the painkillers Jemma had offered, but the pain she’s surely feeling doesn’t show on her face. She gazes up at Jemma with tired, sad eyes, framed by so much darkness that Jemma can’t tell where the circles from exhaustion end and the eyeshadow begins. It makes Jemma’s heart contract painfully. She isn’t used to Daisy looking so empty. She remembers a girl with long hair and a California tan, trying to change the world from a computer in a van. It breaks Jemma’s heart, how little of that girl she sees in the woman in front of her. Not out of some selfish desire for Daisy to remain the same forever, but because that girl was _happy_ , as lost and purposeless as she had been, and Daisy hasn’t looked happy in far too long.

“It was the absolute _definition_ of stupid,” Jemma corrects harshly, pointing the needle at her. “I was in no danger.”

“That guy—“

“I was fully aware of where he was,” Jemma interrupts. “I would’ve ducked in the next second if you hadn’t insisted on blowing out a glass wall and running through the shrapnel to tackle him.” Daisy sighs, dropping her gaze, and Jemma steps forward, tapping her fingertips on Daisy’s stomach to ask permission.

“Go ahead,” Daisy mumbles. Jemma knows better by now than to ask if she wants painkillers. Daisy hasn’t accepted any since returning from her six-month rampage after Lincoln’s death. Instead, Jemma goes straight into stitching up the wound. Daisy watches her, unflinching, seemingly undisturbed by neither the sight nor the sensation of a needle passing through her skin. “You can’t ask me to stop saving you, Jem,” Daisy says after a few moments, her voice so soft Jemma barely hears her, wouldn’t hear her if she were any farther away. “You can ask me for anything else. _Anything_. But not that.” Jemma pauses in her work, glancing up at Daisy.

“I’m not,” she says just as quietly, because she’s fully aware how impossible such a request would be. It would be like Daisy asking Jemma to stop helping her, to stop patching her up after every mission, no matter how many far more capable doctors are in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s employ. It’s simply what Jemma _does_ ; it’s how she exists in relation to Daisy. “I’m just asking you to stop risking your own life to do so.” Daisy flinches, and it’s not because of the needle or her own blood now staining the table beneath her.

“Jemma—“

“I mean it,” Jemma cuts her off, looking up from her work to fix her gaze on Daisy’s. “You can’t keep doing this, Daisy. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I can’t think of a better reason to die,” Daisy says quietly. It’s too much, too _honest_. Daisy isn’t supposed to say things like that, and Jemma isn’t supposed to feel so unbearably warm when she does. There’s an unspoken line between them, and Daisy has been crossing it more and more as of late, with her candor and her long, thoughtful gazes that never fail to make Jemma blush. Jemma ties off the last stitch, cutting the thread and setting the needle aside. She stares at the stitched up wound silently for a moment, counting. Seventeen stitches. The cut will heal, and in a week, Daisy will be on this table again to get them taken out. By then, she’ll likely have acquired a dozen new injuries, and this particular cut will begin to fade into a scar.

“Please don’t die,” Jemma says after a moment, finally looking up at Daisy. “I can’t—promise me. Promise me you won’t die.”

“I promise,” Daisy says, the words hollow and meaningless. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake. i'm always taking prompts; leave a comment or send me an ask. i write skimmons as well as pretty much any other ship i've blogged about. i'm trying to write as much as possible this summer, so feel free to send me anything you want. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


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